h butter and currant jam, and a cup
of tea.

Saturday evening I strolled out and entered the gate of Harriet
Martineau's home. On the terrace I met the present occupants, Mr.
and Mrs. William Henry Hills. They invited me to call in the
morning, when they would be happy to show me over the house. In
naming the hour they said: "We never go to church--we are Liberal
Friends--_real_ Friends." At that I immediately felt at home with
them. I called and spent two hours sitting and chatting in the
drawing-room where Harriet Martineau received her many
distinguished guests, and in the kitchen saw the very same table,
chairs and range which were there when she died, and sitting on the
doorsill was the same black-and-yellow cat, said to be fourteen
years old now. The Hills invited me to 5 o'clock tea, which we took
in the library, where Miss Martineau used to sit and study as well
as entertain her guests at dinner. It seemed impossible to realize
that I was actually in her house. It is not large and is covered
with ivy, which grows most luxuriantly everywhere. It fronts on a
large field, much lower than the knoll on which it stands, and fine
hills stretch off beyond. The old gardener, who has been here more
than thirty years, still lives in a little stone cottage just under
the terrace.

[Illustration: Autograph: "Yours affectionately, H. Martineau."]

Mr. Hills is a great lover of America and its institutions. He is
one of the very few I have met here who really love republicanism.
Nearly every one clings to the caste and class principle, thinks
the world can not exist if a portion of the people are not doomed
to be servants, and that for the poor to have an ambition to rise
and become something more than their parents makes them
discontented. "Yes," I answer, "and that is just what I want them
to be, because it is only through a wholesome discontent with
things as they are, that we ever try to make them any better."...

DUBLIN, September 10.

MY DEAR SISTER: ... I stayed in Belfast some days, and visited the
Giant's Causeway with Miss Isabella Tod, amidst sunshine and
drenching showers; still it was a splendid sight, fully equal to
Fingal's Cave. The day before, we went nearly one hundred miles
into t